Once in His Life
by Lalardi
Summary: Her life would have been so much easier if she had never made the mistake of disarming him...*Would love reviews.*
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, redone, so read it, enjoy it, REVIEW it. Many thanks.**

**By the way, the characters that you recognize all belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. If you recognize any that I've made up, you're seeing things.**

**Chapter One**

**Amara**

The train station at King's Cross was always crowded on the first of September. Amara didn't know if it was like that all the time because she only ever came to the station on that day, the first of September.

She didn't like crowds. It was part of the reason that everyone at Hogwarts always thought her 'antisocial'. She didn't like the nickname and it wasn't true, but she didn't bother arguing about it.

She started pushing her trolley a little faster through the press of people, searching for platforms nine and ten. Just as they came into view above the heads of muggles rushing past, Amara heard her mother behind her, calling for her to slow down.

She slowed and stopped, turning around to see the middle-aged woman come weaving through the crowd to reach her.

"Thank you, dear." she said, stopping beside her daughter and taking a few gulps of air, "Which platform is it?"

"The same one it has always been, Mother." she said shortly.

She thought about asking her mother to go, telling her that she could get there herself, but decided against it. Her assurances would not have any sway over Mrs. Bentley's decision, and she didn't want to seem more belligerent than she had been the last few weeks. Her mother wouldn't want to come on the platform with her anyway, not since her father had-; she stopped herself before finishing the thought. What was important was that her mother would leave her at the brick barrier, and she could find a place on the train by herself.

"Platform 9 ¾." she said instead, her voice assuming the automatic quality it always did when she found herself in a conversation that she knew she wasn't going to win merely because of someone else's obstinacy.

Her mother cast her a sidelong look of exasperation, but said nothing. She knew that there was nothing she could say at this point that would satisfy her willful daughter.

They had had many disagreements like this in the past two months. Ever since they had moved last year, the relationship between mother and daughter had been strained. Amara had thought that there had been no reason for them to leave the only home they had ever lived in, but her mother had wanted them in a new neighbourhood, where people didn't know about the strange disappearance of Mr. Bentley, Amara's father. "It is the only safe thing to do." she'd said.

They began walking towards the platform again. Amara tried to imagine herself in a compartment on the train, alone, to avoid the wall of silence between her and her mother. She glanced once at her mother, wondering if she was not imagining the same thing, wishing she had left Amara at the doors and gone back to work in the experimental charms department.

Amara continued watching her mother for a moment, other thoughts pushing into her mind, ones that had been haunting her since her last semester at Hogwarts.

Amara thought that her mother was an exceedingly beautiful witch, and always had. Mrs. Bentley looked like she had walked out of a fashion magazine. She was tall and graceful, with long, dark blond hair that she wore in a high bun on her head, only so that it would look grand when she let it down. She had bright blue eyes, and the talent of looking interested by whatever you said, even if she thought it was nonsense.

This had never bothered Amara, who looked much more like her father. She was tall, and thin, but she didn't look willowy, only slightly unhealthy. She had plain brown eyes, so light that people had been moved to ask if they'd somehow faded. It wasn't particularly flattering, only noticeable. And her dark brown hair added an odd clash to them. Her hair was long enough to fall below her shoulders, but she didn't let it get any longer, and normally wore it pulled back in a ponytail or braid. Her mother often insisted that if she would do something with it, she would be much more agreeable.

Before her fifth year at Hogwarts, Amara couldn't have cared less how she looked. She was slightly proud of how she had kept herself together while her friends began flirting and dating. But that had changed during a Hogsmeade visit in her fifth year.

His name was Brian Johnson, and he was a fifth year Gryffindor, who happened to be visiting the Three Broomsticks at the same time as Amara.

She'd seen him before, in her Herbology class, and he had always been very polite to her, but today was the the first time they had engaged in a conversation.

He had been extremely pleasant, and they had already agreed to meet in the castle over the next few days, before the subject of houses came between them. That was the first time that Brian Johnson learned that Amara Bentley was a Slytherin, and for some reason it unnerved him.

That was when the comments about her appearance emerged, and that, Amara vowed, was the last time she had anything to do with boys until she was forty years old. Brian had been insulted that he had enjoyed the company of a Slytherin, and had made several remarks to his classmates about Amara's disregard for her looks because she was 'easy', and didn't care what kind of boys fell for her.

Amara and her mother stopped in front of the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The muggles still going about their daily business rushed past, none of them bothering to spare a glance at the two women stopped in front of the solid brick barrier.

"Well, I'll see you in a couple of months, Mum." Amara said, carefully avoiding her mother's eyes.

"Yes, have a good term dear. I'll have the house in a little more order when you get back. Write to me this year, won't you?"

"Yes, certainly. Goodbye, Mother." she said, and hugged her mother swiftly, before turning and shoving her trolley at the wall.

Mrs. Bentley watched as both cart and dark hair vanished into the wall. Little did she know how much her daughter would go through before she would see her again.

**A/N: So? Not too painful...? Hope that I did the sentence breaks correctly and everything.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so you survived the first chapter. Let's see if you can face the second. **

**And the recognizable characters are still not mine.**

**Chapter Two**

**Amara**

As she arrived on the platform, Amara paused a moment to take in the scarlet Hogwarts Express, and the students and families bustling around it. She couldn't see any of the girls that she attended Hogwarts with, and she was grateful. Normally, she would have gone to find a compartment with them, but this year she hoped to find one to herself.

The others would have heard about her father's death of course, but they wouldn't know how, or why. That was for Amara and her mother alone. That was the one thing they still shared. The same sadness, the same danger.

Amara shook her head and began wheeling her trunk towards the train. She found a door and pulled it open, then paused, eying her trunk. Her mother or father had always loaded it for her. She pushed away the tightness in her throat when she recalled that her father would never again accompany her to the train station.

Instead, she heaved one end of the trunk up onto the train, then carefully skirted around it and gave the other end a shove.

The trunk slid forward, and a for a moment Amara thought it would slide right onto the train. However, a moment later her cauldron shifted inside it and it slid backwards, knocking into Amara's knees.

Amara staggered backwards, and felt herself collide with someone. Someone's hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her away, steadying her.

Amara spun around, her face burning with embarrassment.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean," the words faded in her throat as she faced the person who had caught her.

"Please, Ms. Bentley, watch your step." a smooth voice said.

It was Tom Riddle. His jet black hair was neatly combed, and his dark eyes were trained on her own light ones. He was nearly a head taller than Amara, and was looking down at her with a disapproving expression.

She flushed darker at his comment, excuses reeling through her mind.

Amara had known Tom Riddle since their first year at Hogwarts. He was not only handsome, but charming, and as far as any teacher was concerned, one of the most brilliant students ever to come to Hogwarts.

Amara had never really been on friendly terms with Riddle. They were always polite to each other, but he had never had any interest in her, and Amara knew that her having interest in him would not change that, so she never bothered.

Riddle was also the only student to consistently beat Amara in every exam. She studied hard, and would have come in at the top of every class, except for Riddle. She had always had a burning ambition to best him, but had never been able to do so.

"I- I-, I am very sorry R- um, Mr. Riddle. It won't happen again." she said, berating herself for this pitiful display, and wishing that she had just asked a conductor to load the trunk for her.

Riddle gave her a last, fleeting glance, wearing an expression of slight distaste, then turned and continued on his way, vanishing into the crowd.

Amara closed her eyes for a moment, letting the embarrassment wash over her, then returned to her trunk, which was once again sitting on the platform.

Twenty minutes later, Amara had settled into a compartment at the end of the train. She had her forehead leaned against the cool window, watching the fields outside London speed by, but not really seeing them.

All thoughts of Riddle forgotten, she watched in her mind's eye, as the scenes of the last days she had spent with her father, played out as though they had happened that morning.

"_Amanda," Mark Bentley's quiet voice spoke urgently to Amara's mother, "Amanda, I'm going to have to leave. I've learned something about the Dark Lord that I never should have. I've told the ministry, and they're to place defenses around the house, but they've also suggested that I disappear for a while. And I think that they are correct. I think I should leave, until the danger has passed. We'll all be safer."_

_Amara stopped, just outside the kitchen door. Her parents' low voices drifted out of the warmly lit room. She knew that they wouldn't want her listening at the door, but the fact that her father might be leaving was something she felt involved her._

"_But Mark, where will you go? How will you know when it will be safe to return? What is it that you know?"_

"_Shhh, Amanda. You know I can't tell you that. And I don't know when it will be safe to return. No one does. We'll just have to wait."_

_Amara cleared her throat and shuffled slightly at the door before walking into the kitchen. Her parents' voices ceased immediately._

"_Amara," Mr. Bentley said, smiling wearily at his daughter. She had never seen him looking so tired._

"_Amara, are you already through with that essay?" Mrs. Bentley said immediately, leaping up from the table where she had been sitting, and looking around a little frantically, as though there was something she had been doing that she had forgotten about._

"_Yes, Ma'am." Amara said, still looking at her father, "Is something wrong?" she asked, trying to sound innocent._

"_No, darling, nothing you need to worry about." said Mr. Bentley, "Why don't you go get ready for bed."_

"_Yes sir." Amara said, disguising the disappointment in her voice._

_Sunlight streamed through the sitting room windows, dusting the polished furniture gold. _

_Amara looked up from her book, Defending Yourself Against Dark Spells, and gazed around the room, enjoying the touch of the sun. She wished she could find a distraction from the book that she had been reading for an hour. Unable to find one, she looked back down and continued reading._

_A few minutes later she reached the welcome end of the chapter. Standing up from the couch, she stretched, and wandered over to her father's desk to get a quill and some parchment. This would be the end of her summer homework, and she was looking forward to having a long stretch of free time before her._

_Her father's desk was messier than he normally kept it, and Amara wondered if it had anything to do with the conversation she had overheard the night before._

_Shifting a stack of papers, looking for the inkwell, she saw a book, lying open on the desktop. Curious, she bent over it and read the heading of the page:_

_Horcruxes:_

_A Dark Magic with Evil Purpose_

"_Horcruxes." Amara mouthed the word to herself. She was about to read further, when she heard someone enter the sitting room._

_She looked up and found her father staring at her, a look on his face more terrified than she had ever seen._

"_Amara, what are you doing?" he whispered, standing motionless in the doorway._

"_I'm sorry, I was looking for your inkwell so I could finish my essay. I just came across," her voice died away. Her father was turning pale, and it frightened her._

"_I just read the title, that's all. I wasn't going to read the entire thing." she said quickly, glancing down at the book and back at her father._

_Mr. Bentley took a few cautious steps into the room, then approached the desk._

_Amara didn't move as he slid the book away from her and closed it._

"_Amara, you don't realize how important this is: you must never tell anyone what you saw in this book. Is that understood?"_

"_Yes sir." was all she could think to say as her father handed her the inkwell._

There was a knock on the compartment door, and Amara quickly leaned away from the window and looked at the door of the compartment as it slid open.

Tom Riddle stood outside, looking uninterestedly in at Amara, who was still readjusting herself to the present.

"Ms. Bentley, Professor Dumbledore is about to brief the Prefects and would like you to come to their carriage at the front of the train." he said calmly, watching her with an expression resembling boredom.

"Certainly," Amara said quickly, "I'll be along in just a moment."

She meant for Riddle to go, so that she could wait a few moments before following, so that she wouldn't have to walk with him, but he showed no signs of leaving, so she stood up and groped for her trunk in the luggage rack overhead, feeling for her wand.

A few moments later she and Riddle were walking together down the corridor, towards the Prefects' compartment at the front of the train.

Riddle didn't seem to find the silence at all awkward, and strode unconcernedly down the center of the aisle.

Amara followed his example, and remained silent, glancing into the compartments as they passed. After a while Riddle spoke unexpectedly.

"How was your summer, Bentley?"

Amara answered automatically "It was fine."

Riddle looked at her for the first time, his expression curious, "I heard about your father."

Amara didn't look at Riddle. She opened her mouth to say it was alright, but realized that Riddle had not said that he was sorry.

She looked at him, and saw that he was still watching her.

"I appreciate the notice. It has been a difficult month."

Riddle nodded, "He was an auror."

"Yes."

"The article didn't say how he died."

"No, it did not."

Riddle was silent. Amara wondered if he thought he had gone too far, or if he had just lost interest.

They continued the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived at the Prefects' compartment, Riddle stepped in front Amara and pulled the door open for her.

"Thank you." she said as she stepped inside. Riddle waited for her, then followed.

**Another chapter up, hope you enjoyed. Thanks to all those who reviewed last time, I really appreciate it.**

**And if anyone is interested, my spell check assured me that 'eyeing' is spelled 'eying', so if anyone thinks that is incorrect, I thought so, too. But my spelling has something to be desired. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, here is the third chapter. Enjoy and review. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and especially to pesuasion, who reviewed twice.**

**Chapter Three**

**Tom**

"The Prefects will also be expected to patrol the corridors in the evening this year, at least for a few months. The Headmaster feels that this is necessary, given last years' tragedy. You will all receive your assignments at the feast tonight."

Tom let Dumbledore's voice wash over him, without really giving the Transfiguration professor his full attention. He knew the speech by heart, and he also had no anxiety about the new evening patrol duties. He was of course, the only one who knew that there would be no need to patrol the corridors. But it would give him a chance to wander the castle at night, a privilege that Tom knew he would enjoy.

As Dumbledore continued, Tom let his eyes wander over the other Prefects gathered in the compartment. He was amused by how nervous they seemed about the impending patrol duties.

His eyes fell on the girl Dumbledore had asked him to retrieve. He knew her surname was Bentley, but for some reason he couldn't recall her first name, which bothered him. It wasn't because he would have called her by it, but he liked to know everything about everyone that he could. And Bentley was in his year, and a fellow Slytherin. And the other sixth year Slytherin Prefect.

He watched her curiously. She wasn't looking at Dumbledore either. Her gaze was fastened out of the window on the fields and farmhouses flying past. She looked extremely preoccupied, and it interested Tom.

He was surprised a moment later, when Dumbledore said "That is all that I have for you. Does anyone have any questions concerning their responsibilities?"

Tom quickly turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who was looking at the surrounding students, none of whom made any move to speak.

"Very well, you may go." Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Most of the students got to their feet and began to file out of the compartment, but as Tom stood, he noticed that Bentley hadn't moved.

He walked slowly to the door, then looked back. The girl still hadn't risen. Her dark hair was undone, and hanging in a sheet that shielded her face, so he couldn't see her expression.

"Off you go, Tom."

Dumbledore's voice interrupted Tom's curiosity.

"Good day, Professor." Tom said, nodding to Dumbledore before stepping out of the compartment, into the corridor.

"How was your summer, Avery?" Romacus Lestrange asked the large blond boy beside him.

The sorting was over and the feast had begun. Tom was sitting with the rest of the Slytherins at their table, but he hadn't eaten anything. He was watching the head table, his eyes lingering on Slughorn. Would he know? Would the pompous potions professor know what type of magic it was that split the soul?

His thoughts were interrupted when he caught the name _Bentley_ in Avery's answer.

"What did you say, Avery?" he said, suddenly turning his attention on the large blond boy sitting on the other side of the table.

Avery looked taken aback, and slightly frightened.

"I said that I saw in the paper that that auror, Bentley, had died. My father said he had been involved with the Bulgarian ministry, working against Grindlewald."

Tom's expression was so rapt that Avery quickly looked around at the staff table, as if seeking protection.

But Tom continued staring past Avery, his eyes focused on something none of the rest of them could see.

So Bentley's father had been working against Grindlewald. Grindlewald had become an extremely powerful dark wizard. Tom had even heard rumors, dark rumors, that Grindlewald was searching for a way to cheat death. A way to live forever, unafraid of anything. _Anything._

The idea was so alluring that Tom felt a momentary pulse of excitement touch him. But it faded quickly, when he recalled that he still had no idea what this power might be. He had no idea what a Horcrux was. But he would. He never wanted something that he didn't get. And he wanted to know this very badly.

As the feast came to an end, Tom had to temporarily stow away his musings about horcruxes. He stood up to call for the first years, who could be distinguished, not only by their size, but by the frightened way they were beginning to crowd together,

They didn't realize how lucky they were to be here, at Hogwarts, he thought. How lucky they were to be wizards.

Before he could say anything, Professor Slughorn came hurrying down the hall towards him, his mustache quivering as he panted with the effort of hurrying.

"Tom, m'boy, wait a moment." he said, stopping beside Tom, and putting a hand on his shoulder. Tom was as tall as the potions teacher, and he looked the large man level in the eyes, as Slughorn spoke.

"I have the Prefect patrol assignments made out, and if you could, would you pass them out to the rest of the Slytherin Prefects tonight?"

"Certainly, Professor," Tom said, putting on a polite and interested tone.

He took the piece of parchment that the professor offered him, and glanced down the schedule inked there.

He could not believe what he saw in the first column. He could not be so fortunate.

_**Sept 1. 10am: T. Riddle and A. Bentley.**_

**Sorry for the short chapter. Promise that the next will be longer, and much more explanatory.**

**Thanks everyone!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, so here is chapter four. Hope everyone enjoys it. Hope some of you would also like to review it...Thanks:)**

**Chapter Four**

**Amara**

Amara could not have been more relieved to arrive at the common room after the welcoming feast. When she'd seen Riddle finish speaking to Professor Slughorn and call for the first years, she had resignedly copied him.

Shoving herself off of the bench, she had stood and called to the surrounding Slytherin students "First years, over here, please. First years, follow me."

The few, small, frightened students that approached her had looked at her hopefully, their faces too trusting.

Twenty minutes later, the first years were safely in the Slytherin common room, some of them streaking up to hide in their dormitories, others looking curiously around the common room, seeking friendly faces.

Amara wandered over towards a vacant chair in front of the fire. She was about to collapse into it, when she heard someone call her name.

"Bentley, may I have a word?"

Amara caught herself before she dropped into the chair, and turned to see none other than Tom Riddle coming towards her.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle?" she said, forcing the weariness out of her voice, trying to look wide awake and interested.

"Ms. Bentley, Professor Slughorn asked me to pass out the Prefects' patrol schedules. I have your copy, and you and I are also on the first patrol tonight."

He held out a sheet of parchment to her. Amara sighed when she saw that he was right; she would be spending the next hour wandering around the fourth floor.

"Are you alright, Ms. Bentley?"

Amara felt her face heat up as she realized that he had heard her exasperated sigh.

"Oh, yes, thank you." she looked back up at him, and smiled, attempting to pass off the awkward moment. The expression caught on her face when her eyes met his. The firelight was casting an orange glow over his shadowed face, and in the flickering light, his dark eyes looked almost red.

Amara shook her head, and Riddle's eyes were dark brown again.

He didn't move, but remained watching her, his head cocked slightly. Amara felt a strange discomfort under his gaze, and racked her brains as to why he was still there.

"I suppose we need to start our rounds then." she said, hoping that was the answer he wanted.

Riddle nodded.

Amara felt a sudden and desperate longing for the chair in front of the fire, but she tucked the piece of parchment into her robes and said "After you, Riddle."

She didn't even notice that she'd forgotten the 'Mr.' until they were in the corridor.

Ten minutes later they stepped off one of the staircases onto the the fourth floor landing. Amara looked around, not exactly sure what they were supposed to do. She didn't want to ask Riddle, because it made her feel abnormally subservient, a feeling that she did not enjoy.

She pulled her wand out of her robes, and twirled it uncomfortably between her fingers.

"Shall we split up, then?" she asked after a moment. She glanced at Riddle and realized, with a jolt, that Riddle had been watching her.

"No. We're to stay together, at least for the first few weeks. Of patrols," he added, as though the meaning hadn't been clear.

_Great,_ Amara thought wearily, _I get to spend the evening with Tom Riddle. The only question is how much of an idiot I'm going to make of myself._

"Shall we?" she said, adding silently, _Might as well get it over with._

Riddle nodded, and lit his wand without a word. Amara inwardly cringed at his small show of superiority, and lit her wand with a whispered "_Lumos."_

They started down the corridor to their right, wands held aloft, bathing the walls and floor in a soft, golden light.

Amara took care shining her wandlight into every niche and alcove, and checking in classrooms. She couldn't help but notice how casual Riddle seemed. He flashed his wandlight lazily over the walls, taking care to keep from shining over the portraits, who complained bitterly whenever Amara's light disturbed them.

After a quarter of an hour, Riddle's searching seemed to end completely. He kept his light on the corridor ahead of them, and Amara had the impression that Riddle was expecting her to say something.

She did not. She was tired, and wasn't feeling like playing his little game.

A few minutes later, Riddle startled her by breaking the silence.

"So, Bentley," Tom began, his soft voice surprisingly loud in the quiet hallway, "How were your O.W.L.s from last year?"

Amara quickly caught herself before she could direct her wand's beam onto Riddle's face. Riddle was not one to make small talk, she knew, and tried to think of something he might want to know, but when she couldn't, she gave up and answered honestly.

"They were fine. What about you?" she asked quickly, before he could say anything else.

"My scores were fine." he said calmly.

They continued in silence, but now Amara was tensed, waiting for Riddle to say something. He did, shortly after.

"I have not conveyed my condolences about your father, Ms. Bentley."

Amara took her time shining her wandlight into the Charms classroom to avoid answering this. When she finally finished, all she said was "I appreciate it."

**Tom**

Tom's frustration was peaking. Amara Bentley was apparently not going to give in easily. Normally he could have had someone spilling their feelings and secrets to him in less time than it took to get to class. But this girl was keeping her thoughts to herself. And for the first time, he was finding himself unsure what action to take. He could drop the subject, and bring it up again later, or he could push her farther into it. Or perhaps he should just forget it. The Bentley girl probably didn't know anything.

Before he could decide what he was going to say, he found himself facing the staircase he and Bentley had come up an hour ago.

He heard her let out her breath in relief, and looked sideways at her.

"Tired tonight, Bentley?" he couldn't resist saying it, and watching her discomfort surface again. She had been trying to hide her weariness all night, but he had noticed her lagging steps and stifled yawns.

They started down the stairs. Tom stepped over the trick step as he had before, but this time he heard Bentley gasp behind him. He turned around quickly and saw her, knee-deep in the step.

Tom walked back up the stairs and wordlessly took hold of Amara's arms and lifted her up from the step. He was surprised that he could feel the heat from her arms.

He gently steadied her on the next step, then letting go of her, said "Once again, Ms. Bentley, I should warn you to watch your step."

**So there it is. You've read it, now review it. Thanks everyone.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, there was a problem with my document, and the ends of chapters 3 and 4 were cut short. It's so far fixed now, so you might want to go back and read the rest of them. I'm really sorry, I didn't figure it out until after I'd put out chapter 4. Thank you for your patience, hope you enjoy this chapter and the WHOLE of chapters 3 and 4.**

**And, I will add that Harry Potter is still not mine.**

**Chapter Five**

**Amara**

Amara didn't see much of Riddle after their patrol together. She didn't go out of her way to avoid him, but she got the feeling that whatever sudden interest Tom Riddle had had in her, had evaporated as quickly as it had come.

Unfortunately for her, this was about to change.

Two weeks into term, Amara was awakened on Tuesday morning by the frantic tugging on her sheets by one of the other Slytherin sixth years.

"Amara, you need to get up, you're going to late for Transfiguration!"

Amara opened her eyes and blinked in the light of the lanterns that the other girls had lit when they'd woken up that morning.

They had all gone, all except Lillian Prong, whose freckled face was peering down at Amara through a curtain of blond hair.

"What time is it?" Amara groaned, sitting up and running a hand through her dark hair, which was standing nearly on end.

"Too late, Amara. You need to hurry, or you're going to be late."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." Amara mumbled, staggering out of bed. She began fumbling through her trunk for robes.

She heard an "Ahem.", and looked up to see Lillian standing at the door.

"You don't mind if I, um, go on, do you, Amara? I don't want to be late, and Nicola said she'd wait for me."

Amara stared at Lillian for a moment. She was fidgeting by the door, not looking at Amara.

"No, go ahead." Amara said quietly.

Lillian smiled gratefully and vanished out the door. Amara went back to digging through her trunk, wondering vaguely why Lillian hadn't wanted to wait for her. Then she thought back over the last two weeks: how she had avoided the other girls that she had been friends with, how short she had been with anyone who mentioned her father's death. And there didn't seem to be anyone who hadn't known that he had been an auror, who had died recently, with no listed cause.

Fifteen minutes later, Amara skidded to a halt outside the Transfiguration classroom. She quickly straightened her robes and raked her hands through her hair again, which didn't do much, but it made her feel better.

Opening the door a crack, Amara edged in, hoping against hope that she could somehow enter the class without being noticed.

This was a vain hope. As soon as she entered, every eye in the class turned to her.

"Ah, Ms. Bentley, I'm glad you could join us." Professor Dumbledore's voice came from the front of the of the classroom.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Amara said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor, "It won't happen again."

"I certainly hope not. If you will please take your seat, you can join us. The rest of you," he said, turning his attention back to the rest of the class, who had turned away from Amara. All but Riddle.

"If you'll recall, last week, we practiced human transfigurations. We'll be expanding this study today, by moving to changing your hair color." Dumbledore continued as Amara took her seat, and took her book and wand out of her bag. She glanced around and saw that everyone else was once more occupied in finding their own books and wands. She noticed Riddle, whose wand was already on his desk, idly watching Dumbledore. As she watched him, his eyes flashed to hers as though he had felt her watching him, an she dropped her gaze.

When the class finally ended, Amara started gathering up her things, but before she could stand, Dumbledore called from his desk, "Ms. Bentley, if I could have a quick word, before you leave?"

Amara, dropped back into her seat, and waited until the rest of the class had gone, before standing up to approach Dumbledore's desk.

She saw Riddle give her an appraising glance, before he swept out of the room, but she ignored it.

"Yes, Professor?" she said, stopping in front of his desk.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and peered at Amara, his blue eyes anxious.

"Ms. Bentley, you haven't seemed yourself lately, and I wondered if there was anything you might like to, ah, discuss."

Amara stared, unsure what Dumbledore was trying to get her to say.

"No, Professor. I just, it was just," she paused, searching for words, "It was a difficult summer." she finished helplessly.

Dumbledore continued to watch her, his expression making her feel uncomfortably like he was seeing straight through her.

"Yes, I heard about your father. My sympathies," he began, but Amara interrupted him before she could stop herself.

"Please don't, Professor." she said quickly.

Dumbledore gave her a long, silent look, and then said "Alright. But if there's anything you would like to talk about, Ms. Bentley, anything at all, please, feel free to come here."

"Thank you, sir."

"Off you go then."

Amara turned around and left quickly. She didn't look back, but she could feel Dumbledore's eyes on her all the way out of the classroom.

As a result of her conversation with Dumbledore, Amara arrived five minutes late to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Luckily, the class were all involved in dividing into pairs, and Professor Merrythought was sweeping the desks up against the walls with his wand.

Amara slipped inside, and looked around for someone from her dormitory that would explain what they were supposed to be doing. She spotted Nicola and Lillian, standing next to each other, and began threading her way through the class towards them. But before she could get there, Professor Merrythought called out, "Everyone have their partners?"

Amara looked around helplessly, and was about to give up and ask Merrythought what in the world they were doing, but before she could, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She spun around, and found herself face to face with Tom Riddle.

"Very discreet entrance, Ms. Bentley." he said calmly, his eyes roving over her face, his hand still on her shoulder.

Amara cursed herself for blushing in front of him again, but seized the opportunity.

"Yes. Riddle, you wouldn't happen to know what we're supposed to be doing?" she said. Before Riddle could answer, Merrythought spoke again.

"Everyone has their partners?"

"Do you?" Riddle asked Amara, a wicked smile curving his lips.

"I will."

"You do now."

She was surprised, but didn't have time to think about Riddle's sudden act of kindness. Professor Merrythought was moving among the students, moving them apart from one another, spacing them evenly. Riddle moved to stand facing Amara, a few feet away.

"The stunning spell, by the way, Bentley." he said quietly.

Amara pulled out her wand just as Merrythought called, "Everyone facing their partner? Now, when I say go, everyone on the right attempt to put the stunning spell on your partner. Everyone on the left, disarming hexes _only._ Everyone ready? Yes? Alright, go!"

Amara raised her wand and said "_Stupidfy!_"

Riddle's disarming charm hit her before she had finished the spell. She felt her wand fly out of her hand, and Riddle caught it lazily.

He tossed it back to her, "My turn, Bentley." he called.

Amara caught her wand, and frowning at Riddle, concentrated on the disarming charm. But Riddle's spell hit her again, and a moment later she toppled over backwards onto the floor.

The next thing she knew, Riddle was kneeling beside her, his wand directed at her chest.

"Good one, Riddle." she said grimly, sitting up, and putting a hand on her aching back.

Ten minutes later, Merrythought announced that they would have one more round before the class ended.

So far, Amara had succeeded in blocking one of Riddle's hexes, but none of hers had touched him yet.

Gripping her wand firmly, she waited for Merrythought to speak. When she heard "Go!" she raised her wand, saying "_Stupify!_"

The hex collided with Riddle's stunning spell in midair, and sent both ricocheting in different directions. Amara saw Merrythought duck from the corner of her eye, but didn't pay any more attention to him. Spells were flying around her, and she could hear the worn students yelling their spells much louder than they had at the beginning of the class, as though that might strengthen the spell.

As Riddle raised his wand, Amara flicked her own upward again, and thought with all her might "_Expelliamus!"_

A second later, she saw Riddle's wand fly out of his hand and into the air.

Stunned, she raised her hand and caught it. She looked at Riddle, and for a moment registered the look of surprise there, but a second later his handsome face was inscrutable again, one hand at his side, the other clenched at his chest, as though he were still holding his wand. Slowly he dropped his hand, and his eyes flickered to Amara's face, and met hers, staring at her with an intensity that rivaled the one Dumbledore had given her earlier.

As the noise in the classroom died down, the other students began looking around at each other, searching for their wands, or seeing how friends had done. When the first of the Slytherins saw Amara holding Riddle's wand, they fell silent. This ritual continued through the Gryffindors, until Merrythought looked around to see what the problem was.

When he saw Amara holding Riddle's wand, he too became speechless for a moment, like the rest of the class.

Merrythought, however, regained his power of speech fairly quickly.

"Very good, Ms. Bentley, very good! You may have some competition now, Mr. Riddle." he said approvingly, "Five points to both of you, by the way, you've done an excellent job today. That's it for today," he added, raising his voice to address the entire class. He continued, listing the assignments for the week, but Amara heard nothing.

Riddle slowly approached her, and she held out his wand, which he took from her outstretched hand. Amara felt a shudder run down her spine when his cold fingers touched hers, lingering an instant longer than necessary.

"I'm impressed, Amara." he said, breathing the last word so quietly that it took Amara a moment to realize what he'd said. When she did, she turned around, intending to say something. She didn't know what it was she was planning to say, but it didn't matter. Riddle was already back at his desk, calmly taking notes on their homework.

Amara couldn't know, that under Riddle's calm attitude, an unfamiliar, furious tide of questions were raging through him. Never before, had anyone ended a day having bested Tom Riddle.

**So, hope that this chapter was worth its length. Thank you all so much, especially those that fav/alerted, and reviewed. Please keep it up.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alright, here is the sixth chapter, which will go up in its entirety. So enjoy reading, and reviewing. You guys have been awesome reviewers, thanks so much, and keep it up please.**

**Oh, and Harry Potter is still not mine, in case anyone forgot.**

**Chapter Six**

**Tom**

Tom skipped dinner that night. He wouldn't be able to eat anything, and he didn't know what he'd do if he saw Amara.

_Bentley,_ he reprimanded himself, _Bentley, not Amara._

Instead, he bypassed the Great Hall after History of Magic and went straight to the library. He wasn't sure what he was looking for there, but the place always calmed him. The feeling of being surrounded by so much knowledge, that he could access whenever he wanted. They would always be there, willing to give up their secrets to him.

He strolled through the shelves, until he found a table in the far back, where the librarian wouldn't be able to see him, unless she went looking.

He settled into one of the stiff chairs, leaning his head back against the wall in a rare, and secret show of frustration.

He, Tom Riddle, had never been beat in a duel, or outdone in a class. Well, Bentley hadn't really outdone him, but she had ended the class one up on him. She had acted strangely nonchalant about it; not bragging, not responding to the cautious congratulations from the other students. Of course, there hadn't been many that dared to complement her in front of him.

How could she have done it? She obviously wasn't a master of nonverbal spells, but she had surprised him with the speed and power of the spell. Surprised him? No one surprised him, no one dared to cross Tom Riddle.

The wall's cool stone was starting to become warmer under his head, and he leaned forward in the chair, staring out the window at the fading evening.

His mind drifted back to what Avery had said about Bentley's father's mysterious death, that Mr. Bentley had been working with the Bulgarians against Grindlewald. Why? Why was he the wizard chosen to combat the darkest wizard known to history? What had he known?

But those weren't the questions that he would get answers to. Not unless he asked others first. What he really needed to know was what Amara Bentley knew. Did she know what her father had known?

**Amara**

Amara went to dinner that night, but didn't eat anything. She was too busy inside her own head.

She was shocked that she had disarmed Riddle, and, try as she might to deny it to herself, she was slightly frightened by this strange turn of events.

She couldn't say why, and she felt foolish for her fear, but it was true. Something in the way Riddle had looked at her when he had held out his hand for his wand, a gesture that she was sure he had never before performed, and probably never would again. His face had been perfectly composed, as it always was, but there was something electric, a secret fury, behind his dark eyes, normally so unyielding.

_Why?_ She wondered, _why did I have to be the one to get the better of him?_ She had no idea why she was so unnerved, but she couldn't suppress the feeling that Riddle was much angrier than he would ever dare to show in public.

_In public?_ She thought, feeling a sudden chill creep over her, _what about in private? _But there was no private with Riddle. And she hoped it would remain so.

Her thoughts were interrupted as someone sat down heavily beside her. She looked up and saw the dark curls of Nicola, another girl in her dormitory. Lillian sat down on the other side of the table from Nicola, and both of them looked at Amara.

"Well, you certainly had a good day in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Nicola said pointedly.

"I suppose." Amara said noncommittally.

"You suppose?" Nicola looked at Lillian in disbelief. Lillian shrugged, her long blond hair shimmering in the candlelight.

Nicola turned back to Amara.

"Of course you did. You beat Tom Riddle." she said, carefully enunciating the sentence as though Amara failed to grasp its real importance.

"I didn't beat him." Amara said flatly. Lillian and Nicola stared some more, not bothering to hide their expressions of incredulity, and Amara felt a fleeting appreciation of Riddle's constant impassivity.

Feeling annoyed, she said "I didn't beat him. He hit me every time, except the last one I got mine right. He hexed me the time before that. Every time before that."

Nicola snorted, "How is that not beating him?"

"It doesn't matter." Amara said, her annoyance growing.

"Yes it does," Nicola said, obviously missing the hint, "He might be interested in you now."

"I don't want his interest." The force with which Amara stated this surprised even herself, and the other two girls looked shocked.

"You don't want Tom Riddle to be interested in you?" Lillian said carefully, looking closely at Amara.

"No."

"Why ever not?" Nicola prodded, "He's handsome, brilliant, who wouldn't want him to notice them?"

"Me. He's just, not, emotional. It's as if he's not even human." she marveled at the truth of her own words. Riddle didn't seem human. She, and no one else as far as she knew, had ever seen him look sad, or frightened, or even happy. He had only ever looked, well, like Riddle. Except for after she had disarmed him that afternoon. Then, there might have been a flicker of surprise, a crack in his emotionless wall.

Nicola and Lillian were quiet for a moment, as though trying to decipher what this meant. To them, it was utterly ludicrous that a girl could find a mouthwatering man unacceptable because he 'didn't seem human.' Why did it matter? He was gorgeous, unattainable, and the fact that he was in reach of this one girl, and she was ignoring him was almost too insulting to bear.

Or at least to Lillian and Nicola, who gave up interrogating Amara, and were soon talking happily to each other, first about Riddle, then other boys and onto classes.

But Amara wasn't listening. Her mind had drifted back to her earlier query of why Riddle frightened her. He'd never done anything violent, or threatening. As far as she knew, he'd never even been caught breaking school rules.

A few minutes later she left the Great Hall, excusing herself from Lillian and Nicola, who were discussing a recent article from _Witch Weekly_, telling them that she had homework to finish. It was true, but she didn't add that she had no intention whatsoever of going to finish her schoolwork alone in the common room. All she wanted to do was be alone for a while, to think.

As she crossed the Entrance Hall and descended to steps towards the dungeons, she looked around, feeling a familiar chill, and the unnerving feeling that someone was watching her. She looked over her shoulder back at the Great Hall, her eyes roving over the marble staircase and the oak doors. Her eyes lingered on the door to the kitchens. But she saw no one.

She didn't the shadow watching her from inside the door that led to the kitchens.

But Tom Riddle saw her.

When Tom finally returned to the common room, it was twenty minutes past the curfew, but he slipped in, unnoticed. As he made his way unconcernedly between the chairs, the light from the dying fire cast a dim glow over a figure on the couch.

Tom froze for a moment, having been sure that he was alone. The next moment he relaxed. The person on the couch was clearly asleep.

Quietly approaching, Tom was fascinated to see that it was Bentley.

She was lying with her back to the fire, her robes thrown loosely over her so that her legs, still wearing stockings, were visible. She apparently had not changed, but had just come back down to the common room and fallen asleep there on the couch.

Tom hesitated a moment, his eyes lingering on her dark hair, half covering her face, on her clearly defined shoulder under the robes.

Then she made a sound, and he took a step back, thinking that he had woken her.

But he hadn't. She was still asleep, but making small noises of distress. As she shifted, he caught a glimpse of her face for the first time, and saw the troubled expression clouding her features.

She was murmuring something in her sleep, beginning to twist, agitated.

It took Tom a moment to understand what it was she was saying, but when he finally heard her, he froze, shocked, and then excitement began coursing through him.

"I didn't read it, Dad, I didn't! I don't know what they are, I don't know what horcruxes are!"

**Amara**

_Her father was staring accusingly at her._

"_You are not to tell anyone about this, do you understand me?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

_Suddenly the scene changed. They were in a forest, and someone appeared behind her father. The person was tall, wearing a long, dark cloak with the hood up. She saw a hand raise, holding a wand, pointing it at her father's back._

"_Dad, turn around!"_

_There was a flash of green light, Mr. Bentley crumpled._

_Amara screamed, and the wand turned on her..._

"Bentley? Amara, wake up."

A smooth, urgent voice was speaking. Someone was holding her wrists, and she struggled violently for a moment before her eyes snapped open.

What she saw shocked her almost as much as the dream had.

**Okay, sorry this had to be touched up. Thank you all so much for your patience, and you have been great reviewers, keep it up.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, the last chapter had to have a touch up right at the end, so you might go back and read the end of Tom's last paragraph. I am so sorry for all the redoes, no more late-night writing for me. Thanks so much for being patient, and for reviewing.**

**Harry Potter is still not mine. I keep checking. **

**Chapter Seven**

**Tom**

Tom could feel Amara's pulse beating frantically in her wrist, and the terrified expression on her face was enough to tell him why. What he didn't know was whether the terror was from the after effects of the dream, or fear of him. He felt a strange satisfaction thinking that she was afraid of him.

"Are you alright?" he asked smoothly, keeping his hands firm around her thin, trembling wrists.

He watched her take a shuddering breath, before speaking.

"I'm fine. I just, fell asleep, in here, a little while ago, I guess." her explanation ended lamely, and she stopped, instead just watching Tom, her light brown eyes slowly becoming calmer.

Tom let go of her then. He was almost unwilling to release her, but he knew that he no longer had any reason justifying his grasp on her. Still, he slid his fingers off her smooth skin slowly, relishing it. His feeling of having power over her was extremely satisfiying. But he didn't show it.

Instead, he said kindly, "I didn't mean to disturb you, but you sounded," he paused, remembering the anguished cry she had given as he tried to waken her, "distressed." he finished, stepping away from the couch and eying her closely.

"It's alright." she said quietly. She was short of breath, and he saw her trying to come up with a way to get away, to go back up to the dormitories.

And he could keep her there as long as he wanted.

**Amara**

Amara's groggy mind was clearing, and she was desperately racking her brains for some polite way to get out of the situation, the common room, and into her dormitory.

She slowly stood up off the couch, and backed around it. Riddle was watching her with a hungry expression that was beginning to frighten her. Her wrists felt as though his cold hands had burned her.

"I should have gone upstairs when I got here. I was just tired, but I'd better go. I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said.

Riddle was still watching her, but she stopped backing away. She wasn't going to run from him, just because she had been startled by a dream.

"We're not supposed to patrol the corridors tonight, are we?" she said, raising her head to look squarely back at Riddle.

The hungry look was still lingering on his face, but it vanished as she watched, replaced by an expression of vague amusement.

"No, we're not under any obligations tonight. Bentley," he paused, his head cocked slightly to the side as he regarded her.

"May I call you Amara?" he finished.

Amara knew that the shock on her face was what made him say "I don't mean to insult,", but she interrupted him before he could finish.

"You may,"

Riddle caught on without hesitation, "Amara, I couldn't help hearing what you said, while you were asleep. About your father, and horcruxes," he trailed off.

Amara knew that she should deny it, tell him she had no idea what he was talking about, but she couldn't. Horror was coursing through her, disbelief at what she had done. The images from the dream flashed back, mixing with the memory of her father's fear when he had seen her looking at that book. That book about horcruxes.

**Tom**

Her face had turned white, and for a moment Tom regretted asking her about the horcruxes so soon. She looked as though she might faint.

But she didn't. Instead she looked at him defiantly and said "And?"

Tom was impressed, and slightly surprised. Surprised, again, he realized. That in itself was enough to make the girl interesting. He was rarely surprised.

She seemed to be holding up well, so he dove into the next question.

"I wondered if you knew what horcruxes are."

The look she gave him was almost venomous, "No, I have no idea what they are. Now, if you don't mind, _Riddle_," she said, enunciating his last name, "I should go."

Then she spun around and disappeared down the corridor to the girls' dormitories, leaving him standing alone in the common room, excitement and frustration battling inside him.

**Amara**

The next day, Amara did go out of her way to avoid Riddle. She couldn't decide what to do, now that she had slipped up. More than slipped up. She had betrayed her father, but she didn't know what consequences it could have. It was true, that she didn't know what horcruxes were, but she hadn't thought that she would find any threats over it from school. But the look on Riddle's face had convinced her otherwise. She was beginning to appreciate the fear her father had had upon seeing her with that book.

What had were horcruxes? The question occurred to her on the way to breakfast that morning. It wasn't important of course, but she still felt a sudden, inexplicable curiosity.

_Maybe the library_, she thought absently, taking a seat at the Slytherin table, and glancing up and down it, checking for Riddle. Like so many other mornings, he wasn't there.

But if Riddle really wanted to know what these _horcruxes_ were, he would have already looked, she thought, dragging a plate of biscuits towards her.

But maybe he had missed something. Perhaps, if she got a note of permission from a teacher, and looked in the restricted section...

But what would she say she was looking for? And who would she get to sign it?

_Maybe Dumbledore. _But then she remembered the conversation she had had the day before.

"_If you wish to talk about anything, you can come here."_

No. She wouldn't go to Dumbledore.

She looked at the staff table, eyes resting on each professor in turn. Her gaze came to rest on Slughorn. Here she would find someone to give her the note.

And what was more; it would be easy.

Double potions seemed to last for ages. But when the bell finally rang, Amara took her time loading her bag. But as long as she took, when she looked up, she noticed Riddle still lounging at his desk. He looked at her casually, an expression bordering on smugness on his handsome face, as though he knew exactly what she had been planning to do, and was not planning on letting her. But how could he know what she wanted to do, and why wouldn't he let her?

When Slughorn turned around a moment later, Amara gave up, and stood up, exiting the classroom without taking a second look at Riddle.

But when she went to pull the door shut behind her, she didn't let it catch. Instead, her heart pounding with anxiety at the thought of Riddle deciding to leave anyway, and catching her listening at the door, she leaned near to the crack left, and did exactly that.

Slughorn shuffled around a little while longer, then Amara heard his corpulent voice, after he apparently noticed Riddle.

"What are you doing here still, Tom? You'll be late if you don't hurry."

Riddle's calm, and calculating voice followed, "Professor, I was wondering if I could ask you about something."

"What's that, m'boy?"

"I wanted to know if you know anything about," he hesitated, the perfect sound of the curious student afraid of a teacher's rebuke. Amara knew it was fake, but it still sounded amazingly convinicing.

"If you know anything about horcruxes, sir."

A long silence followed. Amara could imagine the look of shock on Slughorn's face, even though she couldn't see him through the crack in the door.

Finally he broke the silence that Riddle was patiently letting stretch on.

"Why would you ask about such dark magic, Tom? It's hardly the kind of thing a student should be interested in."

Riddle's justifying reply came quickly "I came across the term while reading, Professor, and didn't quite understand it."

"Well, there's no need really. It's not something you'd want to perform. But I suppose, if it's just for research-?"

"Of course, Professor."

Amara was almost sickened by the innocent tone of Riddle's voice. She didn't know why, but her fear of Riddle was fast evolving into something cynical, almost, jealous. She pushed the thought away, and listened intently to Slughorn's reply.

"A horcrux is a magical item in which a wizard imprisons a piece of his soul." Slughorn's voice sounded slightly disgusted.

"But, sir, how does one imprison a piece of one's soul?" Riddle barely hid the hint of longing in his voice. Amara was surprised by the sound, and it disturbed her.

"By using a spell to transfer the piece of soul."

"And how do you split your soul, exactly?" Riddle's tone was still calm, but his interest was clearly betraying itself, and when Slughorn replied he sounded nervous.

"Well, by killing. Murder splits the soul. This is all necessary for your reading?"

"Yes,sir," Riddle said swiftly, his tone even again, "I have only one other question, if you don't mind, sir."

"No," Slughorn sounded much more reluctant.

"Would it be possible for a wizard to split his soul more than once? Isn't seven the most magical number?"

"Seven, Tom! Isn't killing once enough? But to murder seven people!" Slughorn sounded almost as alarmed as Amara felt.

"It was only an academic question, sir. Thank you so much, I knew that you would know."

"Of course, Tom." Slughorn's unsure voice didn't muffle the sound of Riddle's footsteps approaching the door.

Amara shoved herself away from the door and hurried up the stairs away from the dungeon classroom, hoping against hope that Riddle wouldn't see her leaving when he left.

Amara spent the afternoon in the library, under the guise of finishing homework, but she didn't spend so much time studying as contemplating what Riddle wanted with horcruxes. She doubted that he would want to make one. Even he wasn't that deranged. But there had to be something else, and there was hardly anything that had to do with horcruxes that was not deranged.

Amara was so lost in her thoughts that she was startled when the librarian appeared suddenly, demanding that she leave.

"It's after hours, missy!" she wheezed, brandishing her feather duster rather violently.

By the time Amara got back to the common room, she was ten minutes past the curfew. She slipped inside quietly, and made straight for the corridor for the girls' dormitories, but before she could reach it, she heard a now familiar voice behind her.

"Amara, a moment please."

She stopped and slowly turned around, trying to keep her face as unreadable as Riddle's presumably was.

"Yes?" she said, facing him. He was standing next to the fire, striking an amazingly attractive figure.

He casually pushed himself off the wall and approached her. He didn't speak until he was a few feet away.

"We're to patrol the corridors tonight." he said. Amara couldn't miss the momentary flash of triumph in his dark eyes as he watched her like he had so often lately.

"Of course," she said swiftly, keeping her gaze steady, "I'm ready, let's go."

"After you." Riddle said with mocking courtesy.

Amara turned around and left the common room again, her heart pounding. _Wonderful. After I've been eavesdropping and look so guilty, I get to spend an hour with the one person who'd notice, _she thought as she took the stairs up to entrance hall two at a time. Riddle hadn't said anything, and her footsteps sounded loud and reverberating.

By the time they reached the fifth floor however, she felt more comfortable with the silence. If Riddle wasn't going to speak, then she could relax and enjoy the safe silence.

She lit her wand and started down the corridor. A flare of light behind her told her that Riddle had done the same, but like so many other nights, Riddle's search was lazy and half-hearted. It vaguely annoyed Amara, but she didn't mention it.

A half hour later, Amara would have forgotten that Riddle was there, except her mind kept wandering back to his conversation with Slughorn that she had heard.

Their round was nearly finished. Amara knew that one more corridor and they'd arrive back at the staircase, and then in ten minutes they'd be back in the Slytherin common room and she'd be able get away.

She picked up her pace, but before she reached the corner, Riddle spoke.

"In a hurry, Amara?"

She slowed immediately, and looked over her shoulder at him. He was smirking slightly at her, his wand light directed just below her face so that it didn't blind her.

"No. I just thought that there was no need to spend all night here."

"Not really. Are you still curious about horcruxes?"

The question caught her off-guard and she almost flashed her wandlight into Riddle's face. She caught herself and redirected the beam onto the wall beside him, where a portrait of an extremely skinny old warlock groaned and said "Keep that down, can't you?"

Amara ignored him, and said to Riddle "No, why?"

"I just wondering if there was anything interesting that you learned from my conversation with Professor Slughorn this morning."

Riddle walked towards her, but Amara didn't move. Surprise and fear kept her where she was, staring at Riddle as he approached.

"I wouldn't bother eavesdropping on any conversations you might have." she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Riddle didn't answer right away. When he was a few steps away from Amara, she started to back away. But after only a few steps, she felt her back touch the wall behind her. She still pressed herself into it as he neared, somehow wishing if she could vanish into it.

"Really. Now, is that really true, Amara?" he was standing right in front of her, closer than she had ever stood to him without running into him. He was taller than her, but she tilted her head up to hold his gaze, afraid of what would happen if she looked away.

"Yes." she gasped, her eyes locked on his.

"If that is true, then why are you trembling?" he asked quietly. She could feel his warm breath on her face as he put his hands on the wall, one on either side of her.

"Tom," she said, her voice tight with panic, "Tom, what do you-"

"Want?" he finished for her, his face inches from hers, "That depends on what you have to offer."

"I don't have anything you would want," she said quickly.

"Oh really? I'm afraid I'll have to be the judge of that. But you don't have anything to be afraid of, Amara. Not yet."

He raised one of his hands and trailed it along Amara's cheek before stepping back, and turning away from her, as if he had suddenly lost interest.

But even when she was back, safe in her fourposter, her face still burned where he had touched her.

**Thanks for reading, everyone. Hope you enjoyed, please review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all so much for reviewing and alerting. You guys are great. Keep it up.**

**And Harry Potter, or in other words, any characters you recognize, are not mine.**

**Chapter Eight**

**Tom**

The walk back to the common room was difficult for Tom, more so than he would have liked. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't deny that being in such close proximity to Amara hadn't been a trial for him. Her fear and fascination were intoxicating. The way she had stared at him, gasped his name.

Normal boys wouldn't find fear so enticing, but for Tom it was irresistible. It was an admission of his power, and that was definitely something Tom couldn't resist.

But the effect wasn't exactly helpful to his pursuit of the girl. During the next week she went out of her way to avoid him, and was frustratingly successful. Every time he spotted her in the corridors she dodged out of sight, sometimes down passages he knew led out of her way. When he arrived in classes, Amara was always firmly implanted in a seat surrounded by other students.

The only hope he had was how uncomfortable she looked with the other students. At first it puzzled him, that she never laughed with them, never joined their conversations. But it didn't take him long to realize what it was that bothered her.

And it pleased him, knowing how isolated she had made herself. After her father's death, she had probably had problems with her mother, then she had not felt comfortable with her classmates, because even he knew how mindless the Hogwarts girls could be. He didn't know what Dumbledore had said to her that day after class, but she obviously hadn't been comforted by it. So now she wasn't really alone, but she felt alone, and that was all that mattered.

He berated himself over and over again that he had threatened her so early, but he thought that he would probably be able to gain her trust fairly quickly. All he would have to do would be to offer her what no one else would: understanding.

Yes, Tom Riddle had always been able to charm the people he needed.

**Amara**

She hated herself for it, but she couldn't help it. She didn't feel the same around the other students, couldn't somehow.

She was alone. Her mother wrote to her twice a week, but she only answered the letters now and then. Sometimes her mother wrote two or three pages, and ended begging Amara to write to her, but the letters were full of nothing, assurances that the house was being put in order, her grandmother was in good health. Pages and pages of nothing.

She couldn't communicate with the other girls in her house. She was afraid to. They couldn't understand, and besides, her slip to Riddle had frightened her. Her father had warned her to say nothing of horcruxes, but she had. Even though she hadn't meant to say it, Riddle had heard her say it. And she still didn't know what effect it would have.

As she sat in potions, she found herself staring absently at Riddle. _Longingly._ She shook herself and tried to concentrate on her Forgetfulness draft. As she trailed her finger down the list of instructions, she sighed, noticing that she had let it boil for several minutes too long already.

"Wonderful," she muttered under her breath, quickly extinguishing the flame under her cauldron and examining the unidentifiable insides.

"Yuck." Lillian had leaned over and peaked into the cauldron. She quickly straightened up as a coil of blue smoke issued from the cauldron.

Unfortunately, Slughorn chose that moment to look over at Amara's cauldron.

"Oh, dear. Ms. Bentley, I'm afraid you've gone a bit a rye somewhere. Perhaps boiled a little too long?" he said, coming over to Amara's desk and taking a quick look at the glutenous substance within.

Straightening up, he looked around the classroom, then called "Mr. Riddle, perhaps you might be able to help Ms. Bentley set her potion straight."

Amara looked up, horrified. Slughorn was beaming down at her, "No need to be worried my dear, Riddle will help you put it right."

As Slughorn waddled back to his desk, Riddle stood up and walked slowly across the room, until he came around Amara's desk to stand behind her. He took one look at her cauldron, then looked down at her, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Well, you've done the job well, Amara."

"Please, To-, Riddle, please, just hold off the sarcastic comments. Can I fix it?"

Her plea had almost the exact opposite effect she had intended. Riddle smiled, an expression that Amara knew was generated by his knowing that he had her on a leash.

"Listen, Tom," she said, her patience ebbing, "If you can't help, I'll get someone else."

It worked. The smile on Tom's face faltered for a moment, and he said "You'll need some of these," and sat down, waving at a bottle of blue liquid.

Amara spent the next ten minutes following Riddle's every order, which was extremely damaging to her pride.

"Tom, it's still grey, not blue. It says here that it's supposed to be a light blue." she said, looking at Riddle across the table. Riddle looked up from the roots he was diligently dicing, and glanced at the page that Amara was holding up for him.

"That's because," he said standing up and coming around the table to stand behind her, "You haven't added the wormwood yet. Here," he reached for another box on the table.

"Um, Tom, could you," Amara wanted so much to say 'move', but she didn't. He made her uncomfortable, but it was what he wanted, so she gritted her teeth before she could finish the sentence.

"Could I what?" he said quietly.

"Nothing."

"Really." as he spoke he leaned forward, putting his arms around her to get the box.

Amara twitched and Riddle leaned back, "Still scared? Or something else?" he whispered into her neck.

A long shiver ran the length of Amara's spine.

"Get off me, Tom." she said, just as quietly. He complied and straightened, returning to the other side of the table.

But he was still grinning.

At the end of the lesson, Slughorn was thrilled to find the Forgetfulness draft perfectly brewed.

"Excellent, Tom, m'boy, excellent! Five points to each of you."

He beamed at the two of them a moment longer, then returned to the front of the class to list their homework.

Tom leaned back in his chair across the desk, and assumed an attentive expression while Slughorn spoke. When the potions professor had finished, Tom turned back to Amara, smirk back in place.

Amara quickly spoke before he could say anything, "Thank you, Tom. I appreciate the assistance."

"Anytime, Amara." he said smoothly.

It took Amara a moment to realize that she had actually meant what she'd said. She wondered if Riddle did as well.

The next morning was the welcome beginning of the weekend. Amara lingered longer over breakfast than she would have though, trying to find words to write to her mother.

She mulled over her week in her mind. Lessons, homework, time spent alone in the library, time listening to the other girls' mindless chatter. _Time spent being terrorized and excited by Tom Riddle,_ she thought, doodling idly on the blank page she should have been filling with comforting words to her mother.

But they wouldn't come. All she could concentrate on was, embarrassingly, Riddle. His arms around her the day before, his words being breathed onto her neck.

She shuddered, and folded up the parchment. Standing up, she glanced around at the few students still in the hall. To her surprise and relief, Riddle was still at the Slytherin table. She watched him for a moment, during which he never took his eyes off the book balanced on the table beside him, then she strode out of the hall.

She stopped in the entrance hall, and paused a moment before slipping through the oak doors and out onto the lawn.

The grounds were sunny and inviting, and Amara went straight to the lake, wandering around it until she came to the beech tree.

Settling beneath the tree, Amara propped her parchment on her knees, and again poised her quill above it, her inkwell lying in the grass beside her.

**Tom**

Tom knew that Amara was watching him at breakfast, and he was careful not to look at her. He didn't want her to hide from him today.

"So, Riddle, you already done with that dark arts essay?" Avery said, looking apprehensively at Tom.

"Failing again, Avery?" Tom said, glancing at Avery, who flushed. With his pale complexion, it wasn't particularly flattering, and Tom went back to his book before looking briefly down the Slytherin table, and saw that Amara was no longer there.

He stood up, snapping the book shut, and left the hall without a word to the other Slytherins. Avery watched him go with a contemptuous look.

Tom didn't know where Amara had gone, but he found out when he reached the third floor and glanced out the window.

There, by the lake, was a familiar form, her back against the beech tree.

**Amara**

Amara let her head drop back against the tree, closing her eyes, listening to the quiet lapping of water against the lake shore. It was a cool day, but the sun was warm on her face, and she enjoyed the friendly warmth.

There was a splash, and she opened her eyes, thinking that the giant squid might be surfacing, which was a sure warning of a severe wetting down.

A tentacle had emerged from the black water, but it was far across the lake. However, there was someone else approaching across the grounds. A disturbingly familiar someone.

"Oh, no." Amara muttered. She picked up her parchment and started to stand, then realized that she'd left her inkwell, and dropped back to her knees, fumbling for the pot in the grass. Finally her fingers closed around the cold, glass pot, and she snatched it up, standing quickly.

But she hadn't been quick enough.

"Fancy seeing you here, Amara. Do you mind if I join you for a moment?" Riddle said pleasantly, looking down at the small girl kneeling in the grass.

_Say no!_ A voice screamed in her head. But of course, she didn't.

"Sure." she said, resigned. She dropped back onto the grass and resumed leaning against the tree.

Riddle sat down softly in the grass a few feet away. Amara watched him from the corner of her eye, curious why he was there at all.

But he didn't say anything to give her a clue. His legs crossed, his robes piled neatly around him, he stared out at the lake, looking perfectly content to sit in silence.

_Fine,_ Amara thought, and went back to her letter. After a few minutes she picked up her quill and carefully began writing about her classes, mindlessly describing the tasks they were set. She hadn't written to her mother in a few weeks, and found that she could put enough description into her daily life to fill up a few sides of parchment.

She was nearly finished, and had almost forgotten that Riddle was still there, when he spoke.

"You don't often write to your mother."

Amara looked up quickly, eying Riddle suspiciously.

"How do you know that I'm writing to my mother?"

"You addressed it to her. Or at least, I assume that there is only one person that you call 'mother'." he said, smiling slightly.

Amara nodded, and looked out across the lake to give herself something else to do.

"Why don't you answer her letters?"

"She doesn't write me often." Amara said shrewdly, still focusing on the opposite bank.

"The same owl delivers you mail twice a week."

"Why do you bother watching the arrival of my mail?" she shot at him, finally looking at him again.

He looked taken aback by her question, but the expression passed almost instantly.

"I like to know what goes on in my own house." he said quietly, looking curiously at her.

"You're certainly vigilant."

"I hope so. So why don't you write to her?"

Amara felt that this was unstable ground to be treading, but no one had ever asked her how she felt about her mother, and she wanted to talk about it. It was like something she was secretly trying to say all the time, but could never find the words to let loose.

But she thought she should be wary around Riddle. This was probably smart, but the problem was that she didn't obey it.

"We just don't have much in common. I never know what to talk about. I can talk about classes, and professors and friends. But I don't have many friends to talk about this year," she said, her voice trailing off as she gazed into the space in front of her.

"Does she ever talk about your father?" Riddle prompted.

Amara went recklessly on, "No, she doesn't. She never talks about him, and I wish she would. It's like he never existed, like she's scared of him or something. She made us move just after he died; I couldn't even look through his things."

Amara stopped suddenly, an uncomfortable prickling in her eyes. She blinked furiously and looked away, glaring across the lake.

Riddle was silent, but she could feel his eyes on her.

"I, I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound as though she wasn't choking back tears. She pushed herself up and turned away from Riddle and the lake, staring into the forbidden forest. She didn't know why she was suddenly spilling her feelings to someone who was basically a stranger to her, but she felt panicked, like she wouldn't be able to stem the sudden flow of thoughts that she'd been hiding from everyone.

"Are you alright?" Riddle's voice came from right behind her, and Amara jumped.

"Yes, of course I am. I just, I'm just," she fumbled for words for a moment before giving up and turning around to buy herself time.

Riddle was a foot away from her, and his proximity startled her. Suddenly the memory of their last patrol rushed back to her. He had as much as threatened her, he had deliberately invaded her space to annoy her only the day before, and here she was speaking to him like he was a friend.

**Tom**

Tom could tell that Amara was becoming suspicious of him, and he knew he needed to sooth her misgivings.

"You sound as though you have a lot you're thinking about. I should go," he said, taking a step away.

"That's alright, I'm going back up to the castle." Amara's voice came from behind him, and he looked back at her. She was looking at him again, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Alright."

She went with him all the way to the castle, without saying a word, and Tom thought he could almost feel her thoughts swirling furiously in her head. She kept her eyes on the ground, watching her feet.

Tom stopped in the Entrance Hall, and Amara kept going for a few steps before realizing that he was no longer beside her.

"Tom? I mean, Riddle. What's the matter?" she said questioningly.

"I have to go by the library first," he said

"Oh, well, I'll see you tomorrow I guess." she said, looking slightly disappointed.

"I'm sure you will." he said quietly. He'd taken a few steps away when he stopped and turned around.

Amara was still standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, watching him.

"And call me Tom please, Amara." he said.

Then he turned and left her standing there, looking confused and slightly lost.

**I did this over a few days, so I'm sorry if it seems a bit choppy in places, I tried to get it to all mesh well. Thanks for reading this long chapter, and please review:-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**I am sorry that it's been so long since I last updated, but, you know how it goes. You guys have been really great reviewers, thank you so much:-) Please keep it up. So, hope you enjoy this:-) Read on.**

**You may have forgotten, it's been so long, but Harry Potter is still not mine...**

**Chapter Nine**

**Amara**

Amara pretended to be asleep while the other girls in her dormitory chatted as they pulled on their pajamas, crawled into bed and fell silent.

But she was still wide awake long after her dormmates' breathing had become slow and steady.

How could she have told him all those things? How could she have just blurted out her feelings to Tom Riddle, almost a complete stranger to her? Worse than a stranger in fact, because she had reason to believe that he was not nearly as innocent as a stranger.

Rolling onto her side, peering from between the bedcurtains at the corner of the moon she could see out the window, her stomach twisted as she remembered the understanding expression on Tom's handsome face. Comforting, almost caring, if that was an expression that Tom was capable of.

Amara rolled onto her back, closing her eyes and willing herself to sleep.

Thirty minutes later however, her wish was not yet fulfilled. Wrenching her eyes open, she faced the dark ceiling, listened for a moment to the steady breathing of her roommates, then pushed aside the curtains and rolled out of bed.

Amara quietly pulled on her bathrobe, slipped on her shoes, then left the dormitory. Unsure of what she was planning to do, she padded down the stairs into the common room. The fire had died down to a pile of glowing coals, casting long, flickering shadows over the furniture.

After a moment's deliberation, Amara approached the common room door.

It was cold outside the common room, and Amara almost turned back inside, but the door swung shut before she could change her mind.

She had only taken a few steps into the corridor when she heard something that froze her where she stood.

Footsteps were echoing from down the corridor, coming towards her. Different scenarios played out in a random succession before her; a student sneaking back from a late-night prowl, perhaps the Bloody Baron's chains, maybe Peeves, or a teacher. The thought briefly occurred to her that she should probably hide in case it was a teacher. Then her stomach jumped as she imagined Tom coming around that corner.

But before she could move anywhere, Professor Dumbledore appeared around the corner.

He looked surprised as he spotted Amara.

"Ms. Bentley, quite a surprise to find you here."

"I'm so sorry Professor, I couldn't sl-" Amara began, finally finding her voice. But Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing her.

"Do not worry, Ms. Bentley. I'm afraid that you are who I was coming to find. Please come with me."

"Professor, what's the matter?" Amara asked, but Dumbledore had already turned and didn't answer. After a moment, Amara jogged after him.

Amara followed Dumbledore down the corridors and through halls until they came to a stop outside of a stone griffin that Amara knew guarded the entrance to the headmaster's study.

"Ah, Professor, why are we-"

"I will tell you in a moment, Amara." Dumbledore said. Amara was disturbed by the transfiguration teacher's gentle tone.

"Professor, is there something I should know?"

"In a moment." was the short reply as the griffin leaped aside, and Dumbledore motioned her to step onto the revolving staircase it revealed.

Moments later the staircase stopped, leaving Amara and Dumbledore at the door to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore hadn't even raised his hand to knock before Dippet's wispy voice issued from inside.

"Come in."

Amara had rarely been inside the headmaster's office, and she really hadn't payed any attention on previous visits. This time however, she was desperate to look anywhere but at Dumbledore, or Dippet, after the instant she glimpsed his grave face.

She stared at the many bookcases on the walls, at the portraits, some asleep, some eying the little group. There was a little, spindly leg table in the corner with a stack of old books on it.

"Ms. Bentley," Dippet said gently, and Amara forced herself to look towards him, diverting her eyes to the table instead of his face. There was no reason for her to be afraid, she told herself, but the knot forming in her stomach told her otherwise.

She glanced quickly up at Dippet, whose bleary eyes were on her, weary and worried, then looked back at the table. There was a letter lying on it, with a St. Mungo's seal at the top. Amara tilted her head to try to make out the writing, but Dippet, noticing where she was looking, whisked it off his desk and into a drawer.

"Amara," he said, his voice firmer now, "I'm sure you are curious as to what has brought you here tonight, at this hour, and I'm sorry to tell you that I have some very unpleasant news for you."

It was true. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"I'm sorry to tell you that your mother was attacked in her home a few hours ago. The neighbours, they heard, and sent a message to the ministry. Well, that doesn't really matter. But your mother is alive, Amara." Dippet said. This should have been comforting, but the expression Dippet was wearing kept the knot in her stomach tied.

"What aren't you telling me? What happened?" Amara whispered, suddenly unable to look away from the headmaster's face.

"Your mother, well, she, she-" Dippet stuttered, but Dumbledore stepped in.

"It appears that several of Grindlewald's followers tortured your mother. She's in St. Mungo's, and there's a chance that she'll recover, but right now she's not, not the same." Dumbledore looked so sad when he said it, Amara knew that that chance of recovery was small.

She couldn't cry. The shock was too great for tears. She suddenly felt faint, and she swayed, clutching the desk to hold herself up. Dumbledore and Dippet were both watching her, concerned.

"Ms. Bentley? Do I need to call Madam Pomfrey?" Dippet said anxiously.

"No. No. Don't. Can I see her? When can I see her?" Amara gasped. She didn't see the look exchanged by the teachers. The only images in her mind were of the letter to her mother, upstairs next to her bed, unsent, so many things unsaid, and of her mother, lying on the floor of their home, bleeding. A completely fictional image, but one that seemed more real than the letter.

"You should probably wait a few days, until the healer's are sure of how much help they can give her." Dumbledore said quietly, but before she could say anything, he continued, "Amara, we don't know why Grindlewald's men would target your mother. We don't know what they wanted or if she knew something, and right now the only person who might know and can tell us is you."

She stared at him, her mind racing back to the conversations her mother had had privately with her father, of the book, that book that had been on the desk. The chapter on horcruxes that she'd sworn never to reveal.

"I don't know anything. I don't know why anyone would attack my mother," she said, her voice rising slightly. She swung around then, and took a few steps towards the door.

"Where are you going, Amara?" the transfiguration teacher called.

"Back to my dormitory." she answered without looking back. Neither professor followed.

Out in the corridor, Amara walked. She didn't bother about where she was going; she didn't really care. Just away from that office, and those two men who had told her that her mother was never ever going to be the way she was before. Either she'd be insane from now on in, or she'd die within the week.

She stopped, and leaned against the stone wall, feeling the cold bricks under her hot fingers, against her burning face. Attacked. _Not how I'd remember her. _Why? Why her? Amara demanded of herself, slapping her hand against the wall. The brief tingle of pain she felt when she did so distracted her for an instant, and she pulled back, looking at her red palm. Then the slapped the wall again, then hit it, and kept hitting it until her hands were red and raw with scrapes. The pain was a wonderful distraction, pushing away the violent images in her mind, and replacing them with only the stinging, aching pain. Still less then the pain she felt inside her.

"Amara?" a soft voice interrupted her, and she spun around, leaning her back against the wall, facing the speaker.

It was Tom Riddle. His surprised expression changed to shock as he looked her up and down, from her pajama clad form to her bruised and bleeding hands.

"Amara, what are you-"

"She's gone, Tom. As good as dead. There's nothing I can do, they won't even let me see her. That's it, Tom, she's gone!" Tears were streaming down her face now, slow and hot, stinging her eyes as she stared at his handsome, worried face.

And he didn't ask who. He didn't ask her to relive it, to tell him. He took a step forward, hesitated, then held out his arms, giving her a choice.

She didn't even think about it. She closed the distance between them immediately, falling into his welcoming arms, feeling someone surrounding her, caring just that she needed it. She cried then, and curled her aching hands into his robes, holding on to the one person who seemed to be there when she needed them.

**Sorry it was short, and vaguely more emotional than the others, but I'm trying to get back into it, so be patient, waiting for the next chapter, and please review some more:-)**


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